


an invincible summer

by AdorabloodthirstyKitty



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25254745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdorabloodthirstyKitty/pseuds/AdorabloodthirstyKitty
Summary: A series of snapshots during the Dowling era
Relationships: Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling, Nanny Ashtoreth & Warlock Dowling
Kudos: 15





	1. Sand

**Author's Note:**

> fic title from a quote from Albert Camus. this fic is made for [a little gomens writing prompt thing on tumblr](https://thetunewillcome.tumblr.com/post/623395804680470528/here-we-go-friends-now-ive-never-been-the), let's see if I can finish this one

Aziraphale huffed as he trudged through gritty sand, Warlock and Crowley two far-off dark smudges shooting across the beach. Warlock's wardrobe, once filled with bright, cheerful clothing his mother had picked, seemed to darken the more time he spent with Nanny. Aziraphale thought it was incredibly precious (and slightly worrying) how much the boy copied his infernal nanny. His hair, grown longer than usual in a style similar to Crowley's when it was left unstyled, flew around his rosy cheeks as he ran and jumped, his nanny never more than a few steps away. He smiled as Crowley scooped Warlock up and swung him in his arms, the boy squealing in joy. It was a far cry from earlier in the morning, when Warlock had run screaming through the house in frustration and hurt as his parents left again for some sort of meeting. Warlock had been nearly inconsolable, but thankfully Crowley's offer to take him out somewhere kept the boy from a full-blown meltdown.

So here they were for a day at the beach, a picnic basket filled with supplies in hand. Aziraphale set the basket a few feet away from the water, laying out a blanket and beginning the process of setting up, using tiny little miracles while Warlock was occupied to make the task a bit easier. Eventually Warlock came running through the sand, almost falling flat on his little face navigating the terrain before Nanny scooped him back up, arms wrapped around him like a vice as he kicked and laughed himself breathless. Aziraphale watched on, unable to stop smiling at the way Crowley played with Warlock, tickling him beneath the ribs until he pleaded for mercy between giggles.

"Hullo, my dears. Are you hungry, young master Warlock? Nanny and I have brought quite a feast."

"Yes please, Brother Francis," Warlock grinned, plopping beside him and leaning in to peak into the basket. Aziraphale may not be the most fond of children, but when Warlock was well behaved he saw no hint of the boy's true parentage. It would be difficult saying goodbye, when this was all said and done. Even without as much time with Warlock, the boy had managed to steal a piece of Aziraphale's heart.

Aziraphale began pulling out provisions, handing Warlock his sandwich with the crusts off and some carrot sticks, turning a blind eye when Crowley snuck a cookie into his eager little hands.

They ate and chatted, Warlock happily recounting his games with Nanny on the beach and anything that came to his mind, weaving between stories much like his conversations with Crowley. Every day Warlock was getting older, and Aziraphale never ceased to be surprised by the boy. He had the capacity to be polite and terribly rude, cuddling up with Crowley for a story one moment and stomping through the garden and ripping up grass the next. But despite his more exuberant outbursts, Aziraphale could barely believe that the boy curled up against Crowley's side, munching happily on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, was anything but a normal human child. He wiped his sticky hands on his shorts, making Crowley snort a quiet laugh that he tried to hide in a small cough. It was clear that the boy loved Crowley, and that Crowley loved him. Aziraphale had never been so happy to be on an assignment, watching the boy grow and change before their eyes.

Once Warlock had finished his lunch, face and clothes smudged with the remains of his lunch, he tugged at Nanny's skirt, her usual tweed swapped out for black linen. Crowley grumbled half heartedly before turning to Aziraphale, asking oh so sweetly if Brother Francis would like to join them. Aziraphale would have preferred finishing sitting in the shade and snacking on any sweets he could miracle without Warlock noticing had Warlock not jumped up and down in excitement, eyes pleading as he asked him to play. He wondered if this was how Crowley felt when he would make similar pouting faces to get his way, finding Warlock's cherubic young face impossible to say no to. He agreed, Warlock cheering before flying down the beach, laughing all the way toward the water. Aziraphale let Crowley run after him, watching as the two ran and jumped into the tide with a smile.

Eventually he caught up with the two, both soaked in salt water and laughing as they jumped and ducked beneath the small waves, Crowley always right at Warlock's side. Aziraphale eyed the water dubiously, sure that it would be dreadfully cold before a sudden splash made him yelp, Warlock cackling as Crowley grinned back at him impishly, his fiery hair dark with water and plastered to his skin. Aziraphale eyed him, weighing his options before kicking a wave toward the serpent, sending a small hint of power to make the splash a bit bigger, making Crowley splutter and laugh as it washed over him.

By the time the three waded out of the dark water the sun had already begun to sink behind the curve of the earth, turning the sky beautiful shades of pink and orange. Crowley carried a still-dripping Warlock toward the Bentley, the boy drooped against his nanny with obvious exhaustion. Aziraphale handed Crowley a fluffy towel miracled from the car, Crowley smiling his thanks as he wrapped it around the boy.

"Good day, dear?" Crowley asked, in that lovely Scottish brogue, voice low and quiet as he tried not to jostle Warlock. Warlock mumbled an affirmative, making Crowley chuckle before his head tilted, and even through the dark glasses Aziraphale had studied Crowley's various tilts, jerks, and other bodily movements to recognize when Crowley was looking at him, with or without his glasses.

"And you, dear?"

Aziraphale's heart fluttered at the petname, thankful for his already ruddy complexion that likely hid the warmth suddenly flooding his cheeks.

"It was lovely, my darling," he smiled soppily, grinning when Crowley gave him a glare that held absolutely no heat.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, sugar plum."

"Dumpling."

"Angel."

"That's hardly fair, dear, you always call me that."

Crowley grinned anyway, looking very pleased with himself.

"Baby, love, beautiful."

"If anyone should be called beautiful it should be you, my dear."

Aziraphale thought he saw a hint of color cross his high cheekbones, but Crowley turned away before he could be sure. He was probably mistaken, trick of the warm light casting them in a warm glow.

"Let's get this little devil home, he'll need a bath before we have dinner," Crowley murmured, his hand coming up to run through Warlock's dark hair, still damp and smelling of the sea.

Aziraphale nodded, helping Crowley lay Warlock across the backseat, two dry towels tucked beneath and around him. The celestial and infernal beings each stepped into the car, driving the young antichrist home for a bath, a dinner of chicken nuggets and ketchup blood, and a bedtime story filled with hellfire, the destruction of the world, and possibly an angel or two.


	2. Ice Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Crowley using a recipe [similar to this one](https://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/vanilla-custard-ice-cream/) to make the ice cream!

Crowley had never been much of a chef, nor did he claim to be. But Nanny Ashtoreth was a woman of many talents, and when she set her mind to it, things typically went her way.

She eyed the mixing contraption on the kitchen island dubiously as she helped Warlock wash his hands before meeting the amused gaze of the household chef, Luciano. Warlock had been insistent on making ice cream, and despite Crowley's lack of cooking experience, he'd agreed with little fuss. It was difficult, not caving to the wants and whims of the child, antichrist or no. He was as bad as Aziraphale with those bloody puppy dog eyes.

Luc sat at the far side of the island, having assured them both that he was there to help if needed, despite Nanny's protests. Nanny helped Warlock dry his hands and scooped him up beneath the armpits, moving the stool he'd been standing on from in front of the sink to the island and setting him down again.

"Alright dear, what sort of ice cream should we make?"

Warlock named around a dozen different flavors, including a few that were completely inedible or impossible, "Unicorn Farts" and "Snail Surprise" being among them.

"Would that mean we're to be eating snails, dear?"

"No!" Warlock cried, his happy grin slipping to a look of wide-eyed concern. "Brother Francis says all living things are precious, Nanny, including sister slug and brother snail."

Crowley tamped down hard at the little squeeze his infernal heart gave, nodding his head as he fixed the bobby pins in his hair, pulling the red waves away from his face.

"Ok, how about this, love: we make plain old vanilla. If it goes well we can add cookies and candy and fruit and all sorts of things, or make a different kind of ice cream next time."

"Yeah!" Warlock cheered, fists raised in victory as he gave a little hop, Crowley immediately reaching out to him to make sure he didn't tip over the stepstool and go tumbling.

"Would you want to sit on the counter and help me, dear? Wouldn't want you falling from the stool."

Warlock allowed it, arms raised over his head in the way he would indicate wanting to be held as a toddler. Crowley would miss holding him like this when he grew older, holding him against his hip with one arm as he pulled bowls and whisks from various cupboards, looking up a recipe on his phone as he went. He picked a relatively easy looking one for vanilla custard ice cream, reading over the ingredients list and pulling the necessary items from shelves and fridge alike before setting Warlock down amongst the various bags, boxes, and bowls.

"Alright dear, first step: let's get all of this measured while I melt the butter. Think you can help me with that?"

Warlock was more than happy to help, scooping tablespoons of flour and cups of sugar into separate little bowls, spilling white powder across the island as he went. Crowley made sure to remeasure everything before putting it aside, turning to plop a tablespoon of butter into a pot over low flame before turning back to the island.

The work was messy but rewarding, Warlock carefully helping hand Crowley eggs to crack and pouring ingredients from various bowls while Crowley stirred, holding the young antichrist against the curve of his hip.

"What's Brother Francis's favorite flavor of ice cream, Nanny?" Warlock asked eventually, having gone on for a few minutes about a small family of birds that had set up nest near his window.

"Brother Francis likes all kinds, dear. Though vanilla and mint chocolate are tied for his favorites."

Warlock nodded, his little face serious and his little pink tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth as he helped stir the egg whites. "What's your favorite, Nanny?"

"I'm not sure, dear. Maybe chocolate."

Warlock nodded, handing Crowley back the whisk. "We'll make chocolate next time, then."

Crowley ignored the sudden dampness of his eyes and the tightness in his throat, giving a quick sniff as he composed himself. "That's very sweet, dear, thank you."

They continued their experiment, Crowley occasionally showing Luc their progress for approval. Thankfully they hadn't burned or set fire to anything yet, though whether the various egg and milk mixtures came together into something edible was yet to be seen. Occasionally Crowley would peer out the big bay windows above the sink, finding Brother Francis tending to various plants and shrubbery. He tried to keep his staring to a minimum, hyper-aware of Warlock babbling as he clung to him and the cook sitting a few feet away, reading a book.

Eventually they added their mixture into a bowl, Luc handing them a bowl that had been in the freezer before collecting ice. He dumped it into the mixing machine, helping fit the bowl of ingredients in place before explaining how to use the small machine. Warlock happily began mixing, with Nanny taking over when his little arms got tired a few minutes later.

"Have you ever made ice cream, Nanny?" Warlock asked, peering into the bowl as Crowley stirred.

"No, dear. This is a first for both of us."

Warlock grinned, his little feet kicking idly as Crowley held him against his hip.

"I hope Brother Francis likes it. I thought we could have an ice cream party. Would you come to the party, Lu?" he asked, turning back to the chef, who smiled indulgently.

"Of course, Mister Warlock."

Warlock beamed, squirming to be put down so he could search for toppings for the ice cream with Luc's help.

By the time the ice cream was more solid, the island had filled to bursting with toppings and snacks ranging from cookies and graham crackers to almost every candy imaginable. Crowley eyed the various bowls of toppings with mild amusement, making a mental note to help Luciano with the dishes when all was said and done.

Crowley filled four bowls with ice cream while Warlock ran to the back garden, calling for Brother Francis to see the surprise. Crowley watched from the window as Warlock hopped up and down, taking Brother Francis by the hand and pulling him toward the back door, feeling the slight tingle of an angelic miracle as Aziraphale no doubt cleaned the dirt and grime of the day off his corporation before stepping into the kitchen. He wiped his feet on the mat, despite his shoes being miracled clean, and turned to see what Warlock had been so excited to show him.

When Aziraphale came into a room, Crowley's eyes always found him. Wherever Crowley went, his eyes always scoured his surroundings for a halo of white blonde hair, the familiar murky blue of his riverbed eyes. Crowley often wondered if he'd been made simply to circle the angel, a moon or a shadow, always in orbit, always following. The only place he truly wanted to be was wherever Aziraphale was at any given time, chatting or sharing a bottle of wine, watching the angel sample various foods with relish. He watched Aziraphale's expression morph from a confused frown to something much softer, the smile on his face nearly glowing with happiness as he stepped into the kitchen.

"We made ice cream!" Warlock crowed, grinning up at the gardener. Brother Francis scooped the boy up and spun him, praising his hard work and grinning as the boy laughed before being gently set back onto solid ground. Warlock grabbed Aziraphale by the hand again, tugging him toward the island where their makeshift ice cream station lay scattered about the island. Crowley handed them each a bowl of ice cream as Aziraphale scooped Warlock up and helped him add various toppings until the ice cream was hidden beneath a small mountain of chocolate sauce, cookie bits, candy, and whipped cream. Crowley would have to miracle the boy asleep with all the sugar that would be running through his system, but for now Warlock was beaming with joy, crumbs and chocolate already smeared around his mouth as he ate and told Aziraphale all about how much he'd helped.

"You both did beautifully, young master Warlock. I'm sure Nanny is very proud," he grinned, Warlock's brilliant smile covered in chocolate making Crowley smile in return.

"Of course I am, dear. We'll have to see about helping Luciano in the kitchen more often, won't we?"

"Yeah!" Warlock grinned, turning to Luciano, already planning the meals and desserts they could help make. Luciano, who had been working for the Dowling's before Warlock had even been born, agreed, obviously happy to indulge the child as he began naming every food he could think of that they would help the cook make. It was sweet and domestic, and for the first time in a long time, as Crowley handed Luc a bowl of ice cream and took the last one for himself, he couldn't help but feel as though this was a place he could happily call home. Even if they only stayed for a small handful of years, Crowley couldn't think of any other place in the world he would rather be.


	3. Burn

It's a rare occurrence, Crowley having the night off nowadays. Harriet had insisted on giving Crowley time off. "To be with your dear husband" she had said, and Crowley's brain had only short circuited for a second at the title being given to Aziraphale. And because Brother Francis worked late into the evening[1], Crowley found himself in the empty little shed-turned-living quarters, wondering what he could possibly do to fill the time until Aziraphale was finished for the day. He could always go out to be with Aziraphale, but Crowley had already kicked off his heels and wasn't keen on putting them back on. He put some music on with a snap of his fingers, "St. James Infirmary" filling the quiet space as Crowley snapped his fingers, the pins vanishing from his hair and his layers of black and burgundy being replaced with a simple slip. He eyed the bookshelves lining the hall to the bedroom, the records and gramophone beside the miracled fireplace in the living room. He lit it with a wave of his hand, moving toward the small kitchen just past the living room. Maybe he could make something to eat, whip up something before Aziraphale got in.

An hour later found Crowley hunched over what had once been a perfectly lovely roast, but now resembled a small volcanic rock. He poked at the charred husk of their dinner, sure that at any moment the failed dinner attempt would crumble to dust.

Unfortunately for Crowley, this was the exact time Aziraphale stepped into their little shack, shedding his smock and hat and toeing off his shoes at the door.

"Crowley? Has something burned?"

Crowley glared at the husk of meat, wondering if it was worth the miracle to fix the thing.

"You could say that," he called back, slumping against the counter as he turned to face the angel already bustling into the little kitchen. His eyes fell onto the pot before turning to Crowley with a look that was far too soft and far too kind. Crowley almost wanted to cry with the care in that look, to curl up into the angel's arms and stay until Armageddon turned everything to ash, including the sad excuse for a roast dinner he had tried so hard to make. He had just wanted to do something… not  _ nice _ , but something for Aziraphale. Lean into the domestic fantasy he found himself living, pretend for just a while longer that this could be possible. A home with Aziraphale, a life with him.

He turned to give the sad hunk of ash a pointed glare. So much for that.

"I'm sure it's not so bad, dear. Why don't we cut into it, give it a try? I'd hate for all your hard work to go to waste."

Crowley grumbled some vague objections, something about "only threw the damn thing in to cook, angel" and "not that hard". Aziraphale nodded along, almost certainly not listening to a damn word Crowley was saying as he made them each a plate. Crowley eyed the food warily, as if someone had poisoned the beef while he wasn't paying attention, before following Aziraphale into the living room to eat.

Aziraphale took his place on the loveseat, Crowley tumbling back into the armchair beside the fire. Crowley poked at the food on his plate before turning to Aziraphale, who cut the meat and popped it into his mouth without fanfare, chewing happily enough. He noticed Crowley watching his reaction and smiled around the mouthful, swallowing and patting his mouth clean with a napkin before speaking.

"You see, my dear? Perfectly fine."

Crowley prodded at his beef again.

"I wouldn't call 'burned into charcoal' fine, angel."

"Really, my dear. It's hardly the worst thing I've eaten, and you did your best. It's better than anything I could come up with, certainly."

Crowley wondered if he could simply toss his plate into the fireplace, though he doubted Aziraphale would like it. He stabbed at the roast more viciously than necessary, watching it hang from his fork like one of Dali's melted clocks. He leaned forward to take a small bite, surprised to find that beneath the taste of charcoal the rest of the beef had turned out well enough.

"I'd hate to see what you could have cooked that could possibly be worse than this, angel," he teased, ignoring the smile Aziraphale gave him as he took another bite.

They ate their meal over a lovely barolo, their conversation flowing from the day's events to various points throughout history, including Aziraphale's meeting with Cab Calloway during an assignment in the States and a rather funny discorporation involving homemade hooch and a horse.

By the time they'd finished dinner Crowley's mood over the burnt dinner was all but forgotten, happily tipsy as he sunk into the chair, legs kicked over the arm and his empty wine glass dangling from his fingertips. Aziraphale's perfect posture had relaxed the more he drank, leaving him almost horizontal, his head propped up on the back of the couch as the rest of him slowly sunk closer to the floor. Crowley wondered how long it would take before he fell off the couch completely.

"That was lovely, my dear. Thank you for dinner."

"Don't thank me, angel. Just glad I didn't poison us both."

Aziraphale made a small huff, rolling his eyes. His head moved, swiveling slightly with the motion, making it known that Crowley was being silly. Crowley only shrugged in reply, smiling as Aziraphale scooted clumsily until he was upright, pulling himself up to stand with a slight wobble.

They cleaned up and got ready for bed, Crowley miracling the food away and the dishes clean as he padded toward the bedroom, flopping face first onto the bedspread. He felt the tingle of a miracle as the blankets were pulled up around him, his thanks muffled against the pillow beneath him. Aziraphale only patted the back of his calf, the touch sending electric shocks all up and down his body as Aziraphale moved to the small en suite to brush his teeth and change into the annoyingly adorable tartan pajama set he'd bought specifically for this assignment.

No matter how many time Aziraphale laid down next to Crowley, despite it only being for show, despite Crowley  _ knowing  _ that it was only to keep up appearances, Crowley's body always became hyper aware of any point of contact, the heat Aziraphale's corporation gave off in the miniscule space between them. Crowley took a deep breath, the smell of clean bed linens and the mingling scents of them both leaving him lightheaded. He turned into his side, facing Aziraphale, drinking in his profile for only a moment before speaking.

"Next time I'll just ask Luc to make us something, say I did it. Or miracle up something. Much less effort."

"It was fine, Crowley. I rather enjoyed it, burnt bits and all."

Crowley eyed Aziraphale dubiously.

"Yeah, because everyone loves a side of ash with their dinner. Really brings out the flavors, pairs well with a good red."

"You know I wouldn't lie to you, dear. Besides, I thought it was rather sweet, you putting in the effort to make it by hand."

Crowley banished the thought about a completely different effort he would like to make before it could solidify in his mind, shifting beneath the blankets until he was burrowed almost completely beneath the comforter, a snake in it's den. He grumbled half-heartedly, his eyelids already beginning to droop.

He was aware of Aziraphale turning on the bedside lamp, opening one of the books stacked beside him as he put his silly little spectacles on. Crowley shit his eyes against the light, hearing Aziraphale wish him a good night before he was pulled completely into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Though Crowley had no idea whether Aziraphale was actually trying to work or just pretending. Crowley made it a daily routine to help with the garden, waking before dawn to have plenty of time to make sure the shrubbery knew just what would happen should a leaf be out of place while Aziraphale tended to the place.


	4. Camp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all I could think of while writing this was David Tennant as Peak Middle-Aged Fishing Dad ala [Camping](https://tvline.com/2018/07/25/camping-jennifer-garner-hbo-comedy-premiere-date/). the hat? the tucked in shirts? the matching tartan pajama sets he and his costar Jennifer Garner wore? gigantic dad vibes. 10/10 would call his children champ/kiddo

Aziraphale was not a fan of camping. The bugs, the hard ground, the cold, the damp. He had always been a fan of human ingenuity and innovation, and ever since the first shelter built in Eden, Aziraphale had done his best to stay within them. So when Crowley mentioned them going camping earlier in the week, Aziraphale had been… reluctant, to say the least.

Camping in California, though, was going rather swimmingly. Or it seemed it would be, all things considered, as they pulled the monstrous camper ("It's an rv, angel. Practically a house on wheels") into a small clearing outside the city. Tad had been called to Los Angeles for another meeting or other, despite his insistence on camping with Warlock the week before. Harriet, in a small act of rebellion, had mentioned the idea of the trip as a family affair, camping in LA so Tad could work during the day and be back by evening to camp with Warlock and the family. Warlock had cheered and insisted and pleaded, and in the end, Harriet and Warlock got their wish. Crowley told Aziraphale he had never been so proud of Harriet when she told him the news.

So here they were, in a gigantic rented recreational vehicle halfway across the globe. Apparently "camping" had become quite a bit easier and much more comfortable in the last few decades, the camper equipped with enough beds for a small family and all the comforts of home. Aziraphale found he was quite looking forward to the experience, despite his trepidation earlier in the week.

Harriet parked the behemoth of a vehicle beneath some overhanging trees, pressing a few buttons and switches in quick succession. Warlock beamed, laughing as the rv lowered, a small canopy opening outside the window before the vehicle stilled, settling into place on the dusty campgrounds.

"Alright, darling, are we ready?" Crowley asked Warlock, who hopped from his seat after wrestling out of his seatbelt.

"Yeah! Mum says we're going on a hike and that we can go up to look at the stars before bed! And we're gonna make smores when Dad gets back!"

"Alright, sunscreen and hat first, then we can eat and go on that hike. Sound good?"

Warlock cheered, a fond smile curling Crowley's scarlet lips as he turned to rummage through a cabinet above his head, beginning the process of slathering the boy in sunscreen as Aziraphale followed Mrs. Dowling outside to set out lunch. She turned to him as he began taking food from their bags, throwing out a quick miracle to keep the campsite clear of any bugs or animals as he divvied up their lunch.

"I just wanted to thank you both again for coming with us."

Aziraphale looked up to find Harriet twirling her wedding ring around a slim finger, the look on her face conflicted. "I know it must be a lot, getting dragged across the world to take care of Warlock. And I know I told Nanny neither of you were obligated to come with us. She's amazing, I know how much she loves Warlock," she smiled, taking a sip of a no doubt melted strawberry milkshake.

"It's no trouble at all, ma'am. We both care for young master Warlock a great deal. We're happy to be here," Aziraphale replied, reaching out to give the hand drumming anxiously on the picnic table a reassuring squeeze. Harriet smiled, some of the tension leaving her shoulders on an exhale before the clatter of the rv door pulled them both from the moment as Warlock ran outside, Crowley following behind at a slightly slower saunter.

"Hi sweetie! Are you ready for lunch?" Harriet beamed as Warlock scooted to sit beside her, so close he all but crawled into her lap.

"Yep! And Nanny told me there was a river nearby, if we wanted to swim. Could we swim after the hike, Mum?" Warlock asked, giving her those wide blue eyes that no one could possibly say no to. Harriet smiled wryly, nodding her head.

"As long as you eat and stay on your best behavior. I don't want you running off and getting lost, sweetheart."

Warlock said something in the affirmative, though the words were garbled around a large bite of food as he hurried to finish eating as quickly as possible, obviously eager to get going.

Once everyone had finished eating and they packed a hefty backpack with an excessive amount of supplies (towels, sunscreen, snacks, water, a first aid kit, dry clothes, among other things. Aziraphale tossed the thing onto his back as if it weighed nothing, much to Harriet's surprise) the four were off, marching down a dirt path toward the river, about a mile or so away.

Warlock led the party, marching like the conductor of a marching band with Crowley right on his heels, Harriet just a few steps behind. The walk was peaceful, the path shaded by trees and easy to navigate, much to Aziraphale's relief. Before he knew it the group could hear running water to their right, and soon they came upon a clearing in the foliage and an opening onto a little beach. Warlock ran straight for the water, Crowley and Harriet right on his heels.

The rest of the afternoon was spent at the river, Warlock splashing along with Harriet while Crowley basked in the sun, Aziraphale sitting beside him in the shade of a tree. It was lovely seeing Harriet and Warlock have so much fun, to see Warlock spending quality time with his mother. He splashed and swam and played, his bright smile never leaving his face for long as they swam until the sun sunk behind the trees.

The two dried off and changed into dry clothes, and soon the group were making their way back to the campsite, Harriet adamant that Tad would be there by now.

To Aziraphale's surprise, Thaddeus  _ was  _ at the campsite, the rather large vehicle he had rented sitting parked beside the rv. A fire was going in the fire pit a ways away from the camper, Thaddeus pacing a couple feet away.

"Daddy!" Warlock cried, running straight for his father and wrapping around his leg to sit on his foot as Thaddeus paced.

"Hey, kiddo! Have you had fun with your mom?"

Soon Warlock was recounting every second of their day, Harriet coming around to press a quick kiss to Tad's cheek before making her way into the camper. Aziraphale and Crowley sat at the picnic table to give the three some space, Thaddeus soon turning to give them a quick wave, his phone to his ear as he nodded along to Warlock's story and whoever was on the other end of the phone.

Soon enough the family had settled around the fire, roasting hot dogs over open flame. Tad told them about his various meetings, though Aziraphale could hardly keep up with what he was saying. Warlock, Crowley, and Harriet each told scary stories, much to the boy's delight, and once everyone had their fill of hot dogs and smores the group went up a nearby hill to stargaze, something Aziraphale knew Crowley loved. They lay side by side in the damp grass, Harriet and Crowley pointing out constellations as Warlock made up his own. Aziraphale's breath hitched as a slim pinky nudged against his hand, and took Crowley's hand, fearing his heart would beat out of his chest, or that his joy would be broadcast with an ethereal glow he couldn't control. He seemed to keep himself under control, his fingers slotting easily between Crowley's. Aziraphale thanked Her for putting him on this earth (something he'd done countless times) so that he may have the honor of meeting the most amazing being he had ever known. Crowley squeezed his hand, and Aziraphale squeezed back. Maybe camping wasn't so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I could make this a short chapter but apparently not x.x


	5. Grass

The back garden is peaceful, quiet. Warlock has tired himself out running, curled up against Nanny, asleep in the shade of a tree. An angel kneels in the garden beds, pulling weeds, murmuring to insects, and the serpent of Eden basks in the cool shade, the breeze, the quiet, holding the young antichrist close. It's a warm, quiet day, the apocalypse years away. For now, they pretend. They ignore the clock ticking, the ever-looming end of the world, and enjoy the warmth of the sun, the cool breeze, the feeling of grass miracled soft and green. Crowley remembered first stepping into grass, the feeling of the individual blades tickling and cool beneath a serpentine belly and less serpentine feet. He remembers the smell, the shade, the sounds of rustling leaves, running water, animals. He remembers white wings, white blond hair. An angel on the wall.

The grass here isn't quite as soft as Eden, but it's close. It's cool and calm here, with an angel nearby, humming quietly as he dusts the dirt from beige gardening gloves. Warlock drools against Crowley's hip, snuffling in his sleep as he shifts, moving further into his nanny's lap. Crowley's heart does something soft and fond he will never admit to. He loves this child, this son of Satan, despite his best efforts. He pushes the hair out of Warlock's face, traces the curve of his little cheek with his eyes, his round baby nose. He loves this boy so much.

The grass beneath them is soft and green. The sky is a bright, brilliant blue, with only a handful of fluffy white clouds. The Guardian of the Eastern Gate walks across the lawn, and even in his silly, ridiculous disguise, Crowley loves him. His heart flips and squeezes in his ribcage as Aziraphale moves to sit beside him, sighing contentedly as he settles in the shade. Crowley ignores the impulse to reach out and grab his hand, but just barely. Instead his hand moves through the grass, ripping up bits and tossing them at Aziraphale as they speak in hushed tones about their day, about memories spanning thousands of years. Crowley doesn't mention Eden, or the way his heart squeezed and kicked and flopped that first time he saw Aziraphale through the foliage, all creams and whites, soft and brilliant on the wall. He doesn't tell him how he fell in love with him during their first conversation, when Aziraphale admitted to giving his sword to Adam.

He just rips up grass and miracles it back, tossing it at Aziraphale like a human child, trying to get a rise out of him. Aziraphale only gives him halfhearted glares, concealing fond looks that shine through those riverbed eyes.

Crowley doesn't hold the angel's hand. His hand holds onto the grass beside him, in the space between them. He's used to this, this holding back, this feeling of wanting something he can't have. He's lived with this want for thousands of years now. So he tugs out grass and miracles it back, holds the cool, soft blades in his hand as he cuddles with the young antichrist. He breathes in the smell of cut grass and soil, closes his eyes, and tips his head back toward the canopy above them. He can almost smell Eden, can imagine the humidity, the new sights and smells of the place.

He doesn't see the look the angel at his side gives him, doesn't notice the way Aziraphale watches him. He turns back to Aziraphale, who looks away and looks back again, and they continue their conversation.


	6. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... and Prejudice

When Warlock asked Crowley to read to him, he had expected something like  _ Goodnight Moon  _ or one of the comics he had started becoming so fond of. He did not expect the old, very familiar hardback that he pulled from behind his pillow with wide, pleading eyes. Crowley frowned at the book, turning to Warlock with a raised brow.

"I saw Brother Francis reading it after lunch and asked to borrow it. Can we read it, Nanny?"

"I don't know that you'd understand it, dear. It's a very old book," he replied, flipping through the battered copy of  _ Pride and Prejudice _ with a frown. He was going to have words with Aziraphale about this later.

"Please Nanny? You can tell me what's happening if I don't get it. Brother Francis said it was one of his favorite books."

"I really don't think you'll like it, dear."

"Please?"

Of course, Crowley couldn't deny Warlock Dowling anything for long. He sighed, flipping to the first page with an exaggerated roll of his eyes as Warlock grinned, snuggling back into bed with his stuffed animal tucked up in his arms (It was a stuffed snake named Scaley that Aziraphale had probably miracled, a surprise present on his fifth birthday. The boy loved it dearly, dragging it around everywhere he went and often tripping over it's long tail. Crowley had absolutely not teared up when he received the gift, and didn't find it at all adorable or sweet. Nope, definitely not.)

"If you don't like it, let me know. I'll read something else instead."

Surprisingly, Warlock didn't ask for a new story. He didn't fall asleep on the first page or grumble about how boring it was. He listened and asked questions, and before they knew it they had finished the first chapter, Warlock's heavy eyes fighting to stay awake as he yawned again and again.

"What do you think, Warlock? New book tomorrow? Or would you want to keep reading this one?"

Warlock yawned again, snuggling closer to his stuffed snake. "Can we read more tomorrow with Brother Francis? I like it when you both do the voices."

"Of course, dear. We'll read tomorrow afternoon in the garden."

Warlock nodded, his eyes falling shut as he burrowed farther into his blankets. His breaths evened out and just like that, the boy was asleep. Crowley shifted the blankets a bit higher around Warlock, tucking him in and shutting off the lamp at his bedside, leaving only his night light to light the way to the hall. Crowley slipped out of the room and down the hall, heading to the little shed he and Aziraphale called home.


End file.
